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Synder & Ashe Ch. 1

By: Tatewaki



Chapter One: Prelude

I had no more doubts. They were on to us. It had taken a while, but the CIA had finally tracked us down. Pernicious bastards! You’d think that selling weapon systems was a felony offence on par with cocaine smuggling, the way they hounded us throughout Asia. We'd be forced to flee again, relinquishing control of this branch of Phobos to yet another puppet president while we set up shop in another Asian country.

God, I loved this life!

Boredom, the constant companion I'd been forced to entertain for thirty-five years, hadn't been around since I met him – my new love, my master, my reason for living. I'd do anything for him as long as he'd keep me close. Many people say that, but I truly meant it. I trusted him utterly, and so far he'd never done anything to make me question my decision to give him absolute control of my life. I'd experienced life on the other side, being married, bearing children and running the typical American household, and had found it lacking. I craved this life of excitement that Andrew bestowed upon me. In fact, I could barely remember my previous existence. That nightmare had slowly dissipated with the coming of Andrew, my dawn. I retained vague impressions of unfulfillment and frustration, but little else. I'd been reared Vanilla, but preferred Neapolitan.

05h00 struck. The Malaysian sun had yet to rise. Even so, I awoke without assistance. I'd been carefully trained both to wake at exactly this time and to awaken him in the only fashion he'd accept.

I rolled down his coverlet, slowly exposing his coca-brown body, rock-hard, seemingly chiseled out of black marble. I cringed when I saw how the myriad of scars laced his muscular frame. I can only imagine the agony he'd endured while receiving them. They dated from a period in his life that he'd never spoken about to me. I'd long stopped asking him about it. One day, I prayed he'd trust me enough to confide in me. The old wounds fascinated me, though. I'd spent many a-day tracing over the faded tracks of his injuries with an errant fingernail or tongue-tip.

I kept rolling back the cover, exposing his penis. The flaccid member looked formidable even when in repose. I loved that black cock of his and everything about it. The deep slit in his large, lemon shaped crown winked at me in greeting. I ran my lips gently over the bulging, rigid web of veins, then slid my questing tongue down to his plum sized balls. When erect, his cock had practically as much width as length. The thought of him slamming his five inch mahogany fist of man-muscle into me had my pussy already tingling.

Every morning I woke him up in this way, greeting his penis with an opened mouth and an experienced tongue. I always hungered for him, but especially at dawn. You see, fellatio not only roused him from bed, it provided me with breakfast. I supped upon cum every morning, the high-protein meal substitute sufficient to satisfy me until lunchtime.

I enjoyed feeding upon his cock every bit as much as he loved feeding it to me. Everybody won in this game, but myself especially. I had longed my entire life to feel needed. Even a duty as pleasant as this one gave me a role to fill. A small one, admittedly, but one I wouldn't give up for all the world. That sometimes brought me into direct confrontation with Eve, the other woman who traveled with us. She envied my position with Andrew. He only permitted me to do this for him, no matter how many times he's used her mouth in the past for pleasure. Once he'd been awakened by her suckling on him, and he'd not been pleased. Her punishment had been swift, and harsh. She hadn't snuck into his bedchamber since! She coveted the ease with which I could interact with him. Her time would come, she just had to have patience. It had taken me years to develop this rapport with Andrew.

I began servicing him by taking long, lollipop licks down the entire length of his shaft, slicking him down with my saliva. I focused my concentration on the satiny underside of his pole, zeroing in on the sensitive skin there. He seemed to like this the most, judging by the way his inner thighs trembled when I did so. I serpent-flicked my tongue across the base of his glans while I nibbled at the crown of his cock. Then I forced it into my mouth, stretching it as wide as I could while I mauled the fat bulb gently. My tongue tried to force its way into his cockslit, tasting the precum that dribbled ever so slowly into my awaiting mouth. Andrew emitted low, guttural rumblings from deep within his chest. The beast stirred!

To do the next step, I’d require more spit. I moistened his cock as much as I could. The frothy saliva streaked his milk-chocolate coloured skin. I intended to make him as slippery as a greased skillet. Once prepped to my satisfaction, I again took his cock into my mouth and pushed straight down upon it. This time I didn’t stop until my nose burrowed into his pubic bone. My nipples hardened uncontrollably as I impaled myself upon him. They, like my neglected clitoris, demanded direct stimulation. As much as I wanted to pleasure myself, I ignored the demands of my aching body. I had come for his pleasure this morning, not my own. Once I was as far down as I could get, I began to suck. His cock crept about another eighth of an inch further down my throat. I knew how he would react to this move! 

Andrew surged upwards, arching his back as he held my face tightly against his groin. His penis lodged itself deep within my throat, his cockslit staring into my vitals. He bucked his ass upwards again, jamming his fleshy cork even deeper within me. 

I loved this part, me grasping him in my throat, him clenching me against himself tightly while my esophagus worked its convulsive magic around his girth, milking him of his seed. I mauled his balls with my hands, sinking my nails into the firm tissue. That always resulted in the cum-dousing I gleefully anticipated. Warm, sticky ejaculate flowed down my welcoming throat. God, I loved him! When I gave him pleasure, I always received it back tenfold. 

Awful, isn't it? I served him, and in doing so I served myself. I often felt guilty about this, but Andrew himself told me that everyone had an agenda that they must fulfill. Why perform actions you felt no pleasure in doing? Constant self-sacrifice for the sake of others only left one feeling bitter and ill-used. Take pleasure when you can, and never feel guilty about it.

I loved the feeling of his powerful loins smacking into my face as I took all of him into me. I loved feeling his essence flow down my throat and into my tummy, warming me from the inside. Every morning, a part of him became a part of me. I slurped down his offering quietly, then nuzzled my cheek against his inner thigh. A contented sigh escaped my lips.

"Morning, Kitten. You miss me?" he said lazily. His sleep-heavy voice straddled two realms, the World of Dreams and our own.

"Of course I do, Mister Grissolm, Sir," I whispered. And I meant it, too! I slept with Eve most of the time. Any opportunity to be alone with him I cherished. I curled myself into the space between his legs, almost fetal-style, as I continued to suckle on his softening cock. His hand descended, stroking my auburn hair absently as I concentrated on nothing else but the feel of the sweet umbilical cord between my lips, my connection with the source of my physical and spiritual nourishment. He gave me strength. He gave me a reason to be. Without him, I'd be lost.

The jingle of slave bells alerted me to her presence. Eve stood in the doorway, watching our morning ritual with undisguised jealousy. Andrew might've nicknamed me Kitten, but Eve was the one with a cat's grace and stealth. Her lithe, toned body would do an Olympics sprinter no disservice. Except for her large breasts; those melons would be a handicap for anyone who relied on athleticism to earn their bread.

Her peacock feather and bell ornaments dangled from her pierced nipples, swaying in time to her breathing. A single fine gold chain draped between her rock hard nubs. That's all she wore other than her waist chain, Indian handflower and anklets. She looked so beautiful standing there, her alabaster-skinned, red haired Celtic beauty so intoxicating that for a split second I considered inviting her in. I ruthlessly squashed the thought immediately.

She knew better than to interrupt us! Sometimes I think she made these missteps simply to get Andrew's attention. She often acted like a naughty girl that would do wickedness just to be noticed by her inattentive father. I understood it, but didn't like it. I'd acted the same way when I first started my affair with Andrew over five years ago. But her presence in my designated personal time with Andrew terribly upset me. She had no right to be here!

"Come to me, Eve," Andrew said drowsily. Eve padded silently into the room, moving briskly on her toes like a stripper strutting barefoot across a stage. She didn't produce a sound. She sashayed past me with a haughty green-eyed glare which I returned with interest, releasing Andrew's cock to do so. Not a single nipple chime jingled as she positioned herself by Andrew's right side. So, she'd meant for me to hear her at the doorway. Sneaky bitch!

"You're up early, aren't you? You could've slept in for another hour. I don't expect you to rise until 06h00."

"I couldn't wait. I just had to come early to see you – " A sharp intake of breath cut off the rest of her words. Andrew's hand slid over one of her firm asscheeks. Knowing him, he probably had pushed a finger deep into her asshole. Eve's chin quivered, her lips frozen in an 'O' of surprise. Her green eyes widened as much as her mouth did.

"Barbara, did I instruct you to cease what you're doing? Please continue. Make me hard again."

"Yes, Mister Grissolm, Sir," I said as I bent my head back to his cock. Icy tendrils gripped my heart. She'd ruined my morning, insinuated herself between Andrew at me, then provoked me so Andrew would scold me! I felt my cheeks heat up, shame colouring them deep crimson.

He wouldn't want me to suckle on him slowly for an hour, not now. I attacked his cock, doing my best to revive his limp member to Ironwood-hardness as quickly as possible. I knelt between his spread legs, my head bobbing on his cock. I made sure to keep my eyes averted from the two of them as I concentrated on my assigned task. Oh, but you'd better believe I kept the sucking noises to a minimum and my ears trained upon them!

"You do know of course that this is the only time I get to be alone with Barbara, don't you?" he said gently. "Things are getting hot for us, here. We'll have to leave for Laos in a couple of days. For the next little while, we'll have practically no leisure time together."

"I just wanted to have some of your time, too," she whined. She moaned through her words. The raspy sounds of Andrew's dry palm gliding over her asscheek as he fingered her asshole reminded me of sandpaper running over silk. She'd never done anal before, though she told me she badly wanted to. The thought of it frightened her a little, but excited her as well. I'd wanted to explore that avenue with her, but Andrew had decided that he'd reserve that pleasure for himself.

"You wanted my time, you say? You shall have it," Andrew decreed. "Starting tomorrow, you'll wake at 05h00 and come to me, just like Barbara. Bring a damp, warm face cloth, a towel, shaving cream and a razor. You're to shave me each morning in bed."

"Really?" The scheming woman didn't even try to hide the glee in her voice. I inadvertently bit down on Andrew's penis. He grunted in surprise, but didn't scold me.

"Yes. We'll also start training this tight asshole of yours for its ultimate purpose immediately," he said. Her voice rose a couple of octaves, becoming shrill.

"Andrew, that's beginning to hurt!"

"You think a finger in your ass hurts, Little One? Wait 'till I drape you over the side of the bed and shove my dick all the way up inside of you, right to the balls. You wanted my attention. Well, you've earned it," he said grimly. "Barbara, you almost done?"

Indeed I was. With stern satisfaction I finished buffing his coca-coloured cock and leaned up. "Shall I prepare Eve?" I asked him.

"Please do," he replied. "I don't want to kill her." I retrieved the lubricant from the night stand as Andrew bent her over the side of the bed and stroked her short-cropped hair. "This is going to hurt like hell, Little One. I only have forty minutes or so to spare for you. When breaking in a new asshole, I generally like to take at least a couple of hours to gently work into it," he said as I lubed up his cock and her asshole thoroughly. Her bright pink, virgin asshole clamped shut like an old woman pursing her wrinkled lips in disapproval.

As Andrew's thick mahogany bunghole-probe touched her defenseless rectum, Eve sobbed aloud. "If you don't want me to do this, just say so," Andrew whispered softly.

"Really?" she said, hope blazing through the word.

"Just so. We'll forget about the whole thing. I won't hold it against you."

Eve remained laying face down on the bed, ass hanging over its edge, utterly immobile. "What about Barbara?" she finally asked.

"Don't ask me, ask her. She's free to deal with you however she pleases."

Eve shuddered as if swatted across the ass with a Spencer paddle. Her long-nailed hands crept to the sides of her asscheeks and held them spread apart. "Take me," she said in a tiny voice.

Andrew leaned forward, beginning to push his thick manhood through the rose-coloured entranceway. "I thought you'd say that," he said.

Andrew's bluster concealed his gentle nature. He'd go as easy on Eve as he could. But she had to learn discipline, and it was his job to teach it to her. I hoped he didn't seriously hurt her, but no matter how gentle he went, she'd still ache for days after he'd finished using her tight ass. Andrew wasn't even all the way into her when the wailing began, her discordant shrieks loud enough to crack plaster.

My mind wandered as Andrew fucked Eve's anal orifice, going back to how things started between me and 'Mister Grissolm.' I chuckled as I thought of the playful honourific, the one I always used when having sex with him. He'd never insisted upon it, not since I left the U.S. with him, but I loved addressing him that way. It reminded me that I was his little fuckslut, to do with as he pleased.

Eve's squeals echoed my own screams uttered over five years ago during that trip to Venezuela. Andrew had taken my ass for the first time during that vacation. I'd become his surrogate wife for that week, and his eternal possession. That fateful decision of my ex-husband's to lend me to his boss set my feet firmly upon the path I now willingly followed. I stroked Andrew's broad back and shoulders as he worked his black cock into Eve's slowly stretching asshole. My mind, though, wasn't in the Presidential Suite of the Renaissance Hotel in Melaka. I was remembering the auburn-haired, hazel-eyed mother of three young boys, one Barbara Ann Synder, and how she'd been when she first encountered Andrew Grissolm, her then-husband's boss. He had taken her life, torn it asunder, then reassembled it into something so much better!

Andrew noticed how distracted I looked. He placed his right hand on the side of my hip, his thumb idly caressing my Winnie the Pooh tattoo I had on my left hipbone. He kept his other hand on Eve's hip to facilitate his anal endeavours. "Hey, Kitten. What's wrong?" His fawn-brown eyes searched mine for the answer.

"Absolutely nothing, hon," I replied. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

He graced me with a smile that could make a searchlight seem dim in comparison. I lived for his infrequent, genuine smiles. "I can think of one place you'd rather be right now," he challenged. "Take that tasty, shaved snatch of yours and slide it underneath Eve's nose. You shouldn't miss out on your morning orgasm just because she decides to play games," he said. "Giving her something to concentrate on will also help keep her mind off the pain."

Stern, yet fair. Did I mention that I love this man?

I gave him a quick peck on the cheek then I slid on the bed to position myself as Andrew had instructed. I snaked my fingers into the short hair on the sides of her head and bent her neck back. My hazel eyes locked on her green ones, seeing the pain that hazed her vision, but also the lust that dulled her senses. Her tear-slickened face was marred with red blotches. She looks so wretched my heart went out to her. We actually were good friends, and got along remarkably well. She just had some difficulties in adjusting to her new role. Time would smooth things out for us. 

Not to say that I wouldn't enjoy using her this morning!

I pushed my smooth pussy underneath her face. "Eat me," I said. Eve didn't question the order, not that I thought she would. She had a real talent at eating quim, and had serviced me practically every day since we obtained her. Today's session eclipsed all of the others. She burrowed into my cunt as if she could escape the pounding Andrew delivered to her asshole if she sucked on me hard enough, or with enough skill. Each shot of his cock into her tortured anus telegraphed into my pussy. In some strange way, it felt like Andrew fucked me via proxy.

I laid back upon the bed and pinched my erect nipples cruelly as I locked my ankles behind Eve's back. My pussy ground into her mouth, pumping her face hard as I tortured my own breasts. My orgasm was fast approaching, the telltale roiling in my belly and inner thighs heralding its arrival. Then it enveloped me in its disruptive kaleidoscope of visual stimulus. My whole world was flashing light, my skin burning so hot, it felt glacially cold. Moisture oozed out of me, flooding Eve's face with my spend. She mechanically continued to feast on me, just like Andrew continued railing her poop chute with clockwork precision. As for me, I lay contentedly beneath her, lazily rubbing my breasts as I thought back on my past life. No, I thought with an idiot's grin plastered across my face, I regretted absolutely nothing about my present circumstances.

* * * * *

This is the first installment of my new serial 'Synder and Ashe.' Feel free to check out 'In the Garden of Eve' at my profile page. if you wish to find out how Eve got involved with Barb and Ashe. 

As always, votes are nice but feedback is what I'm after. If you like what I write please let me know. If you don't, please give me some suggestions on how to improve. Your responses will dictate whether I continue submitting stories to Lit or not. 

Take care, and look out for S&A Chapter 2, and E&A Chapter 7. 

-T

Synder & Ashe Ch. 2



Getting what she wants isn't always the best thing that can happen to a woman.

So I thought as I sat on a plane winging its way to Venezuela. A major weapons exposition would start three days from now, and Deimos had won the right to present their wares first. The week-long trip meant instant promotion for my husband Dave, and a week alone with our three boys for me.

Screw that! I'd been denied a vacation for almost ten years, and I'd be damned if he took off for a warm climate and left me freezing my tits off in a mid-January deep freeze. My incessant carping paid off. Dave consented to let me come along.

Part of me wishes that he'd shown more backbone.

From the first moment we'd met, Andrew Grissolm had been after my ass. He appraised my body openly. Usually I enjoyed such activities, but not the way he did it. His intense, thorough stares made perspiration gather between my breasts. He made absolutely no effort to hide his stares from Dave. I'd expected my husband to say something, but he didn't. Dave ignored Andrew's measuring gazes. 

I thought my disappointment with Dave couldn't get any deeper. Events would prove me to be quite mistaken.

"Barbara Ann's lovely," Andrew said in his deep, Black-Man-Bass rumble. "She has an ass that makes the most of those white hot pants of hers."

My face heated as he continued. "I love that lace blouse she's wearing. It hints more than reveals. Her belly looks really firm. You're certain she's borne three children?"

"Relatively certain, yes," Dave replied with a soft tone. "Three boys."

"I was kidding. I've met your kids, remember? I'm just amazed that a woman with children can still look so hot." Andrew's gaze swept over me, following the contours of my body with his greedy glances. I self-consciously crossed my arms over my breasts, partly to hide them from his view, but also so I could surreptitiously rub my nipples against my forearms.

You see, my pussy had started to seep from the first moment I'd laid eyes on him. Hours into the flight my condition had worsened due to his hot talk. My sodden pants felt sticky with my juices. I knew people could smell me, as my heavy musk permeated the air in the hermetically sealed, all too confining cabin. I kept my legs closed, mashing them together in time to the throbbing, rhythmic hum of the plane's powerful engines.

"Does she ever wear heels?" Andrew asked.

"Sometimes, but never higher than a couple of inches," Dave replied. He answered all of Andrew's questions in similar fashion. Always candid, with no embellishment or inflection. If Andrew had asked him about the maximum range and payload of a missile I would've expected such a flat, bored monotone. But not when his boss made improper comments regarding his wife! I'd long expected Dave to say something in my defence. He hadn't.

Want to know the sad thing? Neither had I. Andrew had a truly commanding presence that stalled any attempts at backtalk. This man ruled by charisma and a firm hand. His rugged good looks also played a role. He looked like a man who commanded respect, expected to receive it, and would pummel you into submission if you failed to deliver. 

"What are her favourite colours?" he asked. "White looks nice on her, but what else does she like to wear?" Andrew fixed his gaze upon my crotch. I took a wool blanket and spread it over my lap, shielding myself behind an impenetrable barrier of itchy grey cloth. His mouth quirked into a small smile, one that stayed upon his lips for the briefest second.

"She likes green and black mostly."

"Truly? I expected her to like blue."

"She likes green, just as her husband told you," I said acerbically. If Dave wouldn't speak up for me, then I'd have to for myself. "Her dress size is a six. She's a four and a half shoe, hates honey and oysters, avoids red meat, but adores cheesecake with whipped cream. Her children, Mark, Matt and Jason, are all her own. She knows this for sure since she pushed every single one of them out of her. She does like high heels, but they tend to hurt her ankles. She'd rather be comfortable than stylish. Furthermore, she prefers her hemlines long, her bodices tight, and her makeup understated. Is there anything else you'd like to know about Barbara Ann Synder?"

My presumptuousness shocked me. Shocked Dave too, if his face mirrored his mind. My head spun. Did I really say all of that? This man owned Deimos, the company Dave worked for. He could fire Dave in a second. We couldn't afford to be without money, not when things were finally looking up for us. What had I done?

"Running shoes don't really suit her, Dave. A classic beauty like hers demands refined clothing and accessories. These things," he waved a hand over the length of me with an errant flick of the wrist," look sexy, but are beneath her. She's no hood-rat. She deserves better than this." Andrew looked past me, staring at Dave as if he had just caught him picking his pocket. Dave looked down at his large hands folded in his lap. "She deserves the world. If only I could give it to her." Dave sounded so hurt my heart leaped. I placed a hand over his. Dave and I shared a loving smile, the first since we left the States.

"I can get it for her, Dave. For a week the world's hers if you're willing."

My heart stopped. Dave's hand felt clammy, like a lump of play-doh. His face betrayed nothing. Only his tension-vein, the small blood vessel just above his left eye, gave his game away. It always throbbed when he was upset, turning a sickly blue whenever he felt stressed. The turgid vessel looked ready to burst.

"What can she have?" Dave said, his smooth tones hiding his rage. Dave was no small man. His bulky, powerful frame matched Andrew's. Both men stood over six feet tall. Andrew looked like a veteran soldier while Dave a professional football player. Neither one looked riled, though I knew Dave to be quite perturbed. Was Andrew?

"Whatever she requires for the week. If she's to be my wife for that time she'll need to look the part. We may deal in weapon systems, but we're civilized people. Some folks don't seem to trust a man without a family. It makes them nervous. Nerves make for bad business, especially with our product line."

"Why not use an escort?" Dave asked him.

"You can smell a whore from a mile off, Dave." He glanced at me and winked. My legs clamped together tightly by themselves. "I need someone with a brain and with class. I promise to treat her well. What do you say?"

Dave rubbed my hand again, ever so softly, as if fearing to chafe my skin. Then he withdrew his hand and returned it to his lap. My heart sank. With that small gesture he'd told me everything I needed to know.

He'd given me up.

"If it's only for the week and helps with the presentation, I'm sure Barb wouldn't mind. Isn't that right, babe?"

I didn't answer. Shock numbed me. He'd cut me loose, just like that.

"Barb? Is everything okay?" Dave's solicitous voice crept along the fringes of my hearing, trying to insinuate itself into my awareness. 

"Barbara Ann. Come over here." Andrew's voice sliced through the ennui that had enveloped me, laying my soul open. My eyes jerked to his as if on strings suddenly pulled taut. His brown eyes regarded me warmly, but with total self-confidence. He reached out a hand and held it aloft, palm up. 

Waiting.

I took his firm hand with my trembling one and gained my feet, curling the blanket around my waist. 

"Leave it. I have one over here you can use."

Dave regarded me with such sublime sadness it hurt to look at him. I averted my eyes and let the blanket fall to the cabin floor. It only took a second to step out of my seat and cross the aisle, a narrow three foot passage that marked the beginning of a world of fantasy. Andrew stood, allowing me to squeeze in front of him as I took the window seat. My dampened ass grazed his crotch, his substantial-feeling package tickling me as I passed. He moved his briefcase from my seat then patted it. I sat down quietly and forced myself to look relaxed.

"I'm glad to have you, Barbara Ann. I promise you’ll have a most pleasant week, Mrs. Grissolm." As he spoke his hand caressed my tummy through my lace top. My belly quivered. His bold touch had been so unexpected! He made no attempt to hide it from anyone. I glanced over at my husband. He stared at the wispy clouds below.

My high shorts covered my navel, but clung to me like shrinkwrap. The crotch displayed a camel-toe anyone could see if they looked.

Believe me, Andrew looked. Both looked, and enjoyed.

"Have you ever been to Venezuela, Barbara Ann?"

"No. Never been out of the States." Words came with difficulty due to that hand of his stroking my tummy. The only sounds I wanted to make were contented purrs. I should've said something to make him stop. I was a married woman, for Christ's sake! But I didn’t stop him. After all, this week Andrew was my husband. Dave had said so.

"You'll like Venezuela," he said without pause, not giving me a moment's respite. He moved his hand from my belly and pressed a button on the arm of my chair. My seat reclined until I lay almost horizontal with my legs fully extended. My trembling legs clamped together, as if the increased pressure would keep my juices and my shame hidden from him. "Some of the most beautiful women in the world come from there. I bet they'll be right pissed when they see the beauty I brought with me."

His hand resumed its gentle stroking of my tummy, then slipped under my lace top. It made contact with bare, heated flesh for the first time. My breath whooshed out of my lungs in a loud huff as he stroked my stomach. His fingertips grazed the waistband of my hot pants. "You're going to give those women a real run for their money."

He pulled down my zipper. Each tooth that scraped between the jaws of the zipper sent a tremor through my crotch and directly into my clitoris. The zipper thudded along its ivory track, the ever-widening split revealing my long gash of navel, the pale, gentle swell of my tummy, and faint, wispy swaths of pubic hair. The zipper halted, my pants undone, but with my sex still decently covered.

But just barely!

His hand glided over the newly revealed expanse of skin, rubbing in the fine mist of perspiration he found there. "On the resort where we're going you'll have plenty of opportunities to work on your tan."

"I don't like tanning," I replied. It was all I could do to keep my voice steady. I couldn't bear to look at him. Instead, I looked past him to where my husband studiously examined his small oval window. 

"You will, Barbara Ann. Once we land, you'll get the urge. Women always do when they get to the Carribean." His hand plunged downwards, scraping over my already juicy pussy lips to press my engorged clit against my pubic bone. My hips bucked forward by themselves.

"Calm yourself," he whispered. "Soak the seat if you must, Barbara Ann, but you’ll remain still, and silent."

His fingers deftly split my lips, then dove within. A passing stewardess caught my eye, looked at his hand and smiled. She went about her business and disappeared beyond my field of vision.

"You've been wet for awhile," he whispered. "How long?"

I didn’t dare tell him it was from the moment he'd started discussing business with my husband. I've never seen someone so in control without trying before. He commanded respect without even asking for it. My pussy responded to his innate charisma by lubricating like crazy. I needed some of that forcefulness in my life. Now, because of my gutless husband, I'd have it.

I didn't know whether to be upset with Dave or eternally grateful to him.

"For about half an hour," I lied. "It started when you began discussing me with Dave."

"Why did that make you hot?" His talented fingers played magic chords upon my tautly-stretched flesh. A whimper started from deep within. It crept up my windpipe and prepared to burst forth. As if he sensed it, he lifted a lube-smeared hand to my lips to silence me. He wiped my own juices upon my slightly parted lips. "Suck on that, Barbara Ann, but remain silent." He thrust his stiff fingers back into me, manipulating my flesh as skilfully as a surgeon sliced tissue with his scalpel. "Unfold the table from the arm rests, Barbara Ann, then read the newspaper. It’ll help you keep your mind focussed on other things."

I did as I was told, spending my time reading some rag I had no interest in. He read his magazine one handed, using his thumb to flick pages while his other hand quickly and repeatedly brought me to the cusp of orgasm, then pulled back. The bastard tantalized me for over two hours like that. Only when the captain's warning regarding our descent came over the loudspeaker did he remove his saturated hand from me.

"May I do up my pants?" I whispered. The little bit of fuzz that showed through the open slit embarrassed me.

"Only when we stand to disembark," he replied, still reading his FHM magazine. "Not one second before."

I sat there with my fly open, newspaper held across my lap in an effort to cover myself. That fucking stewardess kept hovering around our row, solicitously asking if we required anything. Andrew asked for and received some moistened lemon scented towelettes. He tore open one of the foil packets and unfolded the tight-packed sheet, then used it to cleanse his sticky hand. The extra packets disappeared into his inner jacket pocket.

"Do you always refrain from wearing underwear?" he asked me.

This man had played with my quim for over two hours. Why not tell him? "Usually. I like going without." 

"Your husband doesn't seem like the type to insist that you do something like that. Was it for him, or another man?"

"What?"

He looked at me and smiled. "I'm asking why you decided to stop wearing panties. Was it for Dave, or did another lover ask you to do so? You don't seem the type to do something like that for your husband."

How could he have known that I had a lover a few years back and that he’d insisted that I never wear panties? Andrew had sussed out the truth. I’d never do something like that for my big, lovable, goof of a husband. But for the weekend lover who had treated me merely as his fuck toy I’d accommodated as much as possible. That relationship had ended, but I still loved the feeling of going without panties. They really got in the way. Not wearing underwear made me feel sexy. I wasn't going to share any of that info with Andrew, though. I shook my head no.

"No matter. From now on you'll wear what I tell you, and when I tell you to do so. But you'll wear underwear from now on unless I instruct you otherwise."

"Who do you think you are?"

"Why, your husband. For the next six days, at any rate."

Husband! Even Dave didn't tell me what to wear!

"Problem?" His raised eyebrow and steady eyes waited for my response.

"No, Mister Grissolm."

"Hey, Barbara Ann. We're married. Please call me Andrew." I didn't reply. "Now sit quietly until we disembark.” 

My pussy ached so much it almost felt like menstrual cramps. He had told me to remain still, so immobile I remained. But God, how I wanted to dive into myself and frig my own box until I exploded. But somehow, I contented myself by thinking how nice things could be for me later on if I abstained.

"Mister Grissolm?"

Silence.

"Andrew?"

"Yes, Barbara Ann?"

"Where will I be staying?" It had dawned on me that as his wife he might expect me to stay in his suite. I wasn't sure that I really wanted to do that. But the idea didn’t repel me, either. The thought of staying with him didn't upset me as much as it should have.

"Where do you want to stay?" 

What did I want, really? I wanted Dave to suffer. As much as I could understand his decision, I couldn't bring myself to respect it. He traded me away to a man who'd obviously had sexual designs on me. I opened my mouth to answer him. I wanted to go with Andrew, I realized. I wanted him, if only out of spite.

He took the choice away from me. "Perhaps you should remain with Dave for the time being, Barbara Ann. That would be the best for everyone concerned." 

"Yes, Andrew," I said. Inside, I seethed with vexation.



Synder & Ashe Ch. 3



We arrived safely in Porlamar, Venezuela twenty minutes ahead of schedule. Unfortunately, none of our luggage made it with us.  Somehow, it had found itself on a cargo plane destined for Johannesburg, South Africa.  The airline could trace our belongings instantly, but they were powerless to do anything about it.  Our bags would be forwarded to us in three days' time, two days after the presentation to the investors.

Andrew looked miffed, but not terribly so.  Unlike Dave and me, he had with him his three pieces of carry-on luggage.  Everything we carried had been checked. 

Andrew suggested that we purchase a few items and ride it out until Saturday.  It sounded like a good plan to me.  Dave, however, had a confession to make.  His wallet had been with the bags.

Andrew's incredulous stare could've melted steel girders. 

Dave had nothing with him except for a small amount of money and a few traveler's cheques.  Certainly not enough to buy a week’s worth of clothing suitable for a business executive.  Andrew dipped into his wallet, pulling out about $2,000 in crisp hundreds and fifties.  He gave them to Dave.  "I'll see to our transportation," he said.  He strode off, pulling his wheeled luggage behind him.  Dave and I trailed him like ducklings behind their mother to the pond.  Neither one of us dared to raise our eyes and reveal our embarrassment.

A young native looking boy hailed a cab for us, stretching out a small dirty paw and waving it frantically.  Andrew gave him a bill, muttered something in Spanish, and pointed.  The boy nodded briskly and scampered off.  "Here," Andrew said while passing his AMEX card and luggage to Dave, "Go to the Pearl of the Caribbean resort and check us in, would you?  Use the card.  The reservations are under Grissolm."

Dave nodded once, echoing the motion the boy had made earlier.  For all of his great size, he looked no more self-assured than the child.  He loaded the trunk of the beaten up Mitsubishi, then piled into its back seat.  I opened the car door, about step inside, when Andrew’s firm hand seized me by the wrist.

"Not you," Andrew said.  "You ride with me."  Andrew kicked the door shut, leaving a confused looking Dave staring out at us from the dirt-smeared window as a sparkling black limousine pulled up behind him.

The dirty boy scampered out of the passenger-side, trilling in machine-gun Spanish.  Andrew smiled at him, and waved him over.  He stuffed a twenty into the small, dirty paw.  The boy's eyes stretched wide, as if he couldn't believe what he saw.  For all his stupor, he sure had sharp reflexes.  The bill vanished in a loud snap of flesh on crisp paper.  The boy looked at his clenched fist, still not believing his good fortune.  He said something else to Andrew, who dismissed him with a flick of the wrist.  The boy ran off, looking behind him fearfully as if he thought Andrew might try to reclaim his money.

Andrew reached over and opened the passenger-side door, holding it open for me so I could enter the limousine.  He then strolled around to the other side and sat down.  The car sped off without any instruction.

"I'm surprised there was a limousine at the airport waiting for us," I said.  I was searching for any safe conversation topic.  Being alone with him unnerved me.

"I'm not.  I reserved it," he answered.  "You didn't think I'd sit in one of those filthy little cabs, did you?"  He stared out of the window, watching the sights.  “Porlamar, and Isla Margarita in general is a playground for the rich.  There’s serious money out here.  For those who have cash anything’s available.  By the way, do you like to go shopping?"

"Sometimes."

"That's no answer.  Yes or no?"  His voice remained unchanged yet his inflection held a note of irritation.

"I like to shop, yes, but I seldom do."

"No time, or no funds?"

Did Andrew know of Dave’s house-poor state?  Sure we lived in a beautiful four-bedroom home and owned a cottage.  Our beautiful house looks the best in the neighborhood.  It also ate up every last penny Dave earned.  I've been a housewife for the last 13 years, ever since my eldest son’s birth.  The two other children kept me there.  I didn’t regret raising my boys, but we sure missed the extra income. I no longer added money to the household budget.

How long had it been since I'd purchased a big-ticket item merely because I wanted it?  A decade at least.

"A beautiful woman needs beautiful things to set her off," Andrew said.  "I'll make sure you get everything that you need."

"Everything?  That encompasses quite a bit!"

"Indeed it does," he replied.  "Spread your legs. I just hope you're up to the challenge."

The command caught me totally off guard, slipped so casually into the flow of the conversation I barely caught it.  I wanted to search his eyes to see if he was serious.  I couldn’t see them as his head was turned towards the window, watching the panoramic island view slide by.  He didn't need to see me to know how stupefied I felt.  "Open your legs as wide as you can."  He tapped inside of my right thigh with his fingertips as if requesting a blackjack dealer to slide him another card.  My legs crept open a bit.

"Wider," he said.  "I want to hear the ball and socket joints in your hips creak."  He grasped my slim ankle and pulled it across his lap, burying the heel between the seat and the car door.  "Unzip your shorts," he said.

Why did all of this surprise me? Wasn't this the same man who'd fondled me for the last few thousand miles?  Still, his request disconcerted me.  I didn't move.  Irritably, he undid the top snap of my shorts and unzipped me all the way.  I was revealed to him once again.  At least, I would've been if he had bothered to even look at me.

His hand crept into my shorts, massaging my pussy with rough strokes.  It had been a little while since he'd played with me last.  To my shame, I found that I missed his touch, and felt ecstatic now that he’d returned it.  My crotch rose upwards to meet his thrusting fingers.

"Keep your ass on the seat, Barbara Ann.  Don't react to my touch," he said.  His hand moved all over my crotch, spreading my lips, tweaking my clitoris, tugging at my labia and otherwise inflicting intense, painless sexual torture upon my body.  He kept me on the edge of my orgasm.  My pussy leaked copious amounts of fem-spend onto his probing hand.  After the long plane ride, I didn’t know if I could deal with more of this exquisite torment.  I needed to get off.

"Looking forward to your shopping trip?"  he asked.

Shopping?  "Yes, very much so," I replied, my voice tremulous with the strain of ignoring my broiling, self-basting pussy.  My inner thighs quivered with need.  Jamming his hand deeper into me by bucking my hips sharply upward is all I wanted to do. His earlier order didn't allow for such an action. Instead, I bit my lower lip and clenched my hands into white knuckled fists.

"What do like shopping for the most?"  His fingers worked downwards, into my ass crack.  My breath caught in my lungs.  "Breathe, Barbara Ann," he said gently.  "Don't hold it in, breathe regularly and deeply."  I forced my lungs to restart.  He bathed his palm in my natural lubrication, even as he attempted to pull conversation from me.

"Do like shopping for shoes?"  He said.  He tugged at the laces of my canvas runner with his free hand.  "I'd say not."

"I'm more interested in comfortable, practical shoes."

"Comfort and beauty are not two mutually exclusive concepts.  You'll learn soon enough."  He picked at my laces, undoing them, then slipped the shoe off of my foot.  He pinched the center of the balls my feet, causing my toes to splay open like a budding flower, each one delicately curved like a tulip’s fine petals.  His fingers insinuated themselves between the toes, massaging with firm, strong strokes as he frigged my pussy and played with my asshole.  Surprisingly, the best sensations came not from my crotch or ass, but from my foot!

"Too bad we don't have some skin cream on hand," he said.  "On second thought, maybe we do." He removed his sticky hand from me, then rubbed it into my tired foot as if it was the most expensive balm on the market.  It felt wonderful.  Aches I didn't even know existed vanished.

The car squealed to a stop.  Over the loudspeaker came a musical flow of Spanish words.  Andrew replied to the chauffeur just as fluently.

"We're here.  Take off your other shoe," he said.  He then knocked on the glass shield separating us from the chauffeur.  The passenger door opened.  A dark hand reached inside, curtly pulling me out.  Andrew exited his side, passed the driver a few dollars, then motioned me aside.  I carried a canvas runner in each hand and walked with my shorts undone.  He didn't give me a chance even to zip them up.  Each step I took threatened send my shorts sliding down my legs.  

We walked into the lobby of the ritzy hotel, him confidently up to the reception desk, me following close behind him in my attempt to use his body as a shield.  My bare feet slapped loudly upon the cool marble tiles of the entranceway.  As he spoke to the receptionist, a porter eyed my exposed crotch with open lust.  The woman at the desk gave Andrew a couple sets of keys, but kept her eyes fastened fully upon me. I moved my shoes over my crotch area,  my head bowing in shame.

"Make sure to get some suitable shoes while you're here," Andrew said finally, walking me to the elevator.  "I don't ever want to see you in runners."

I didn’t want to be humiliated like this ever again.  I'd obey!

"Barbara Ann!"  The shout halted me.  I turned to Andrew, watching him carefully as he leaned against the pillar near the elevator doors.  I walked back to him and waited.  He moved my hands to my sides, then slid a credit-card sized purple card into my pants. Then he grasped the zipper and tugged it all the way up.  My hands, filled by my shoes, fluttered helplessly at my side.  His manicured fingernails grazed my navel as he did up the snap.  Then he stroked my tummy.

"Go on up to your husband, Barbara Ann.  You’re in 1205. I'll be in touch with you."  He stroked my cheek once, tweaking it with thumb and forefinger, then stepped back into the hall.  I fled into the elevator and punched the 12th floor.  The ornately etched brass doors slid closed, stealing his dark, grinning face from my sight.  I stared at the sealed portal for a few moments then tightly sealed my eyes, letting the runners drop to the ground as I wrapped my arms around myself.  My whole body quivered.  Go back to my husband.  That’s what he’d said.  I realized that I didn’t want to do so.  Go back to Dave and my boring, humdrum existence.  Already the uncanny experiences of the last few hours started to lose their fantastical quality, becoming normal occurrences.  Imagine how boring life with Dave would seem now!

I felt confused and melancholy as I bumbled around the hallway searching for my room.  I finally found my door.  I fished out the damp mauve card from my pants then popped the passcard into the slot.  The electronic lock turned green.  My normal, mundane life waited for me within.  Or so I thought.

Little did I know that things would never be normal for me again.  


§§§


I fell into my suite, my brain barely registering the decor as I searched for my husband.  I soon found him, phone in hand, looking out of the ceiling-to-floor windows at the glorious view. He spoke into a cordless phone.

"Yes, and arrange for a computer loaded with the software I need.  Make sure it has an ethernet card installed, okay?  My suite is wired for highspeed access. And while you're at it ..."

I went over and pulled the phone from Dave's slack grip.  I hung it up.

"What the fuck?" Dave said.  Apparently he hadn't heard me come in.

"Do business later, hon.  Right now I need you."  Boy, how I needed him!  The encounter with Andrew left me feeling unsatisfied and quite horny.  The whole idea of being leased out to him for a week aroused me like nothing else had ever done before. Aroused me, and scared me shitless all at once.  I needed to know how Dave felt about me.  I tossed the phone onto the nearby couch and pulled Dave's face close to mine, kissing him gently upon the lips.  He didn't kiss me back.

"Looking for second-best, Barb?  I got no time for you."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw you on the plane. What he did with you."

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"What could I say?  He's my boss!"

"Exactly.  You sold me to your boss for a week. I was supposed to do what?  Slap him?  Scratch him?  Don't get angry with me because you didn't have the balls to say no."

"You looked like you were enjoying yourself."

"I didn't fuck him, Dave.  Don't treat me like I did."

"How do I know you didn't? You had plenty of time alone in that limo."

"You know because I just said I didn't.  Nothing happened.”  I held his face firmly between  my hands and stared into his eyes, willing him to see the truth.  Nothing did happen between Andrew and me, but not because I didn't want something to happen. Dave didn't need to know that part, though.

I watched the tension flow out of Dave.  A slight smile appeared upon his lips.  "Thanks Barb.  That makes me feel better."

Dave shouldn’t thank me.  Thank Andrew. If he had asked me to go home with him I would’ve done so.  "Will you be ready for the presentation?"  I asked my husband.

Dave gently removed my hands from his cheeks.  "Not really.  That's why I gotta get back to work."

"I need you, hon. Right now."  My hands sought out his cock, rubbing it through the thin tan cloth of his khakis.  His prick stirred beneath my palms.  I had him unbuckled and unzipped in a flash.  "This is what I need right now."

"Barb, I don’t have time."

"We used to have time for this before the kids and the cottage, the cars and the house.  That’s all back home, hon. All that’s here is you, me, and that beautiful cock of yours."

"And Mister Grissolm."

I stiffened, but pressed on. "Forget about him.  Didn't I tell you I didn't screw him?"

"I didn't mean it that way, babe.  I need to finish his presentation ASAP.  It's my balls if I don't deliver on time."

"Even more reason for you to relax for an hour or two beforehand.  Let me help you."  I pulled his pants down and tugged off his briefs.  He might have been protesting but his cock wasn't.  His cock bobbed, almost slapping him in the belly.  His bulging veins coated his stiff cock.  I stood up, undoing the small buttons on his shirt one by one.

"No Barb!"

As I picked at his buttons, I ground my crotch into his, liking the way his cock bounced around between my legs.  I pinned it there, moving my crotch in and out, massaging his girth with the slightly damp crease of my hot pants.  Dave's chest filled like a spread bellows.  Dave had quite the sexual appetite, one that used to keep me well satisfied.  I was hoping that this unplanned vacation would rekindle the passion between us.  I wanted to have a lover again and not just a provider for me and the boys.  My short fling hadn’t been intended to hurt Dave.  I truly loved him.  But back then, like now, he’d failed to satisfy my needs.  I had been forced to find someone else. I wanted my husband back, both in my heart and in my bed.  

I bared his hairy chest by pulling his shirt open. I rose up on my toes so I could nibble just below his ears on the side of his neck, blazing a path down to his shoulder with tiny love bites.  My arms wrapped around his back, my sharp claws digging into his skin.  His arms went around me to support me in my endeavors.  His thick, strong arms reminded me of Andrew's.

I pulled off of my husband.  I quickly shucked my damp hotpants and tossed them aside. My lace blouse and bra joined them on the floor. I stood completely naked in front of my man, posing for his pleasure. My hands ran over my slight breasts, my tummy, and over my wide, generous hips. I covered the little Winnie the Pooh tattoo I had on my left hip bone.  Sometimes I regretted ever getting that done, but it was much too late to worry about that now.  I presented myself to my husband like a virgin on her wedding night.  "Are you ready for me, hon?”

I strutted forward, climbing upon my husband and thrusting myself onto him.  My leg hiked up on the side as I fitted him inside of me.  He sank into my greased depths easily, making my muscles churn around him.  I'd been ready to fuck for the last few hours. He grabbed my leg, holding it for support as I wrapped my hands around his shoulders and bore down upon him.  I humped him, my ass working frantically, teeth digging into his skin as I nuzzled my face into his broad chest.  It took me a long time to realize that although I fucked him as hard as I could, he didn't return the favour. He let me use him like a dildo with a pulse.

"Hon?"

"I really gotta get shit started, Barbara Ann."

"And I really need to come.  You're going to come with me!"  His cock softened within me, the ultimate insult to any woman in such circumstances. How could he go flaccid during our lovemaking?  Didn't he find me desirable?  Lust gave way to anger. What kind of guy was he?  I jammed my pelvis so hard against him I bruised my pussy lips.  My fingers dug even harder into his flesh, seeking to pierce his skin. I wanted this bastard to hurt!

"That's enough, Barb."

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.  I ignored him as I frenziedly worked myself on him.  If he didn't want to come with ne, fine. I'd climax without him.  He just had to stay hard long enough for me to get mine.  


"Barb?"

"I need you honey," I whined.  I worked my ass so fast I got a stitch in my side.  I really wanted to lay him down so I could bounce on top of him, but I knew that he’d bolt the moment I broke our intimate contact.  I had to satisfy myself with this awkward position.  I moved my right hand from his shoulder to my cleft, seeking out my slickened pleasure button that nestled between my dampened slit lips, swaddled in its blanket of fine pink flesh.  I  tweaked it with  a force bordering on ruthlessness as I humped him.  "Fuck me, honey.  Push that cock inside me as deep as you can."

"Enough, Barbara Ann.  Get off of me!"

In all our years together, Dave had never raised his hand to me.  There had been many times that I would've deserved a slap or two, but Dave was slow to anger and the first to walk away from a confrontation.  Being so strong made him very careful around people smaller than him.  He always struggled to maintain total  control over himself. Today, he lost his eternal composure. He pushed me off of him, running forward with me until my back and skull smacked against the wall.  He gripped my left breast tightly, clenching on it so hard that the flesh bulged through the gaps between his fingers.  His hard, wet cock jutted out from the bristling thatch of brown hair at his crotch. There was no signs of softness now!

"I told you later!  Listen,  I was supposed to ship out the entire presentation last week.  The slides, the brochures – the works.  I decided to save some of my departmental budget  by shipping it on the same flight we were on.  Nothing's here, Barb.  It's on its way to fucking South Africa!  I called the office to see if they could wire the data over.  Nothing's available.  The data stores are empty.  It's as if the whole fucking project never existed.  I don't know where any of the information is! All I have are the personal notes from my work laptop Stateside.  The office will wire me the PDFs for the promotional materials so I can get them printed locally, but that's all I got. Now do you understand why I gotta get cracking on this?

As Dave ranted his grip increased its painful pressure upon my tit. My hardening nipple that dug into his palm didn't trouble him.  I should've felt frightened, angered even. Certainly not excited!  I loved to see that sexy glint in his eye, to have his rough hands upon me.  The reasons didn’t matter, only the result.  I placed my hands upon his forearm gently, stroking him with feather light touches.  A long, shuddering sigh escaped from my lips.




Synder & Ashe Ch. 3



"Oh my God ... I'm so sorry!"  Dave tore his hand away from me as if he had stuck it inside a badger's den and had his fingers nipped off.  He stared at his spread open hand.  His guilt-filled eyes locked onto mine.  "I'm sorry, babe.  I didn't mean to startle you.  I guess I got carried away."

Dave turned his back upon me, going to the couch to retrieve the phone.  As he punched a number he shouted over his shoulder for me to take a shower then head out to look over the resort.  The concierge had told him it was quite beautiful.  He promised to finish up his business quickly and join me later.

I didn't bother to answer.  I picked up my shorts, blouse and bra and took them into the bathroom, twist-locking the door behind me. I’d been excited by his outburst, and quite disappointed when he stopped doing his thing.  My reactions frightened me.  I didn’t secretly crave mistreatment from my spouse.  I didn't want to be slapped around.  So what had made me  so horny back there?  I filled up the sink with warm water and put my shorts in it, scrubbing the crotch for a few minutes to wash out my juices.  I didn't have a change clothes with me and I'd be damned if I continued to wear these things as-is in the tropical heat.  Only then did I run the shower and step inside.

The powerful jets of water washed away the sweat and spend from my body but not the confusion and hurt.  I had more questions than answers,  more things that troubled me the longer I stood in the shower.  One thing was certain though; my desire had died within me, flushed down the drain like the spent bath water. 



Synder & Ashe Ch. 4



The island of Margarita was supposed to be a glorious spot. 'The Pearl of the Caribbean' people called it. I hoped I'd be permitted to see all of it. Both Dave and Andrew had cautioned me to tour the resort to my heart's content but not to take one step off of it. Even a tourist trap like Isla Margarita could be rough. Venezuela's economy had been hard hit recently.

Both of the men had abandoned me while they went downstairs to a café for an impromptu meeting. I wanted to tag along, but the cool stares from two sets of diametrically opposed, equally frigid eyes kept my desires unvoiced.

Our beautiful complex sprawled out as far as the eye could see. My guide told me that Margarita was a windsurfer’s paradise, featuring constant, year-round winds that seldom died out. El Yaque attracted the world's best windsurfers, people eager to catch the 25 knot winds and strut their stuff. A year round average temperature of 29 degrees Celsius ensured a fantastic outdoor experience. Though we had missed it, June's Wild Wind Regatta always brought in hordes of sportsmen from the far flung corners of the world. His chest puffed up with pride as he spoke, his breast now as round as his sizable paunch. He continued his speech regarding Margarita's water sports. If it had something to do with water you could do it here, he said. Whether scuba diving at the Los Roques Archipelago or snorkeling at El Farallon, swimming off of the shore of Moreno or participating in parapente – diving off of high rocky promontories with a glider – if you wanted to do it, they had the terrain and water to accommodate you. The water had fantastic clarity, often exceeding 30 meters and temperatures of over 25 degrees Celsius. The way he sounded I took those figures to be both a far distance and a warm temperature. Metric always gave me problems. He then launched into a long spiel on all of the sites that could be seen. His pudgy hand hovered beneath my nose, silently shouting to be filled. I gave him a tip of 500 Bolivars. I didn’t understand why he gave me such a disdainful look in return, but the plump fist that clenched around the banknote shook.

I spied el Deseo del Corazón, a quaint looking café, about ten minutes away from the hotel lobby. Before I could enter it a pack of mangy looking youths surrounded me, grabbing at my body and otherwise making nuisances of themselves. They had the rawboned, famished look of feral dogs. Their incessant touches really pissed me off. I threatened to call security if they didn't stop. The largest one, a fellow with a wide set mouth like a toad laughed at me as he abruptly pulled me towards him. 

"I love white women with black asses," he said, mauling my asscheeks while he ground his hard cock into my groin. He jiggled my ass, pulling at the lobes so hard it felt like he'd shred my hotpants in two. His erection poked at me through his shorts, but felt rather small compared to my husband's equipment. His annoying, outwardly aggressive advances hid insecurity. The punk had nothing but raging hormones and white teeth going for him.

I broke away from them, leaving the boys whistling their catcalls and crying for my return as they chased me. I dashed into the café.  Once I stepped inside the host motioned at a couple of armed guards who then lumbered into the street. Upon seeing them the hunting pack broke apart, melting away like wolves into the timberline.

"Why didn't you do that before?" I asked him.

"Not my customer, not my problem," he replied in heavily accented English. "This way, please." He placed a hand gently on the center of my back as he guided me to a table.

I was famished! Andrew hadn’t permitted me to eat a bite on the plane except for a few grapes that he fed me, pushing each succulent, fat berry between my sensitive lips. He had skimmed the chilled, plump fruit over my hot tongue, tantalizing me with the sweet fruit until my tongue frenziedly lashed at the berry and his fingertips. Only then had he allowed me to claim my plump reward. That small bunch of grapes had taken an eternity to consume. By the time I had finished, I’d been sodden-crotched.

If I wasn't careful, I'd be that way again. That familiar itch between my legs returned with a vengeance.

I ordered quickly, selecting a plate of smoked Arctic Char with capers and red onion slices, a small tossed salad dressed with raspberry balsamic vinegar, and a glass of Chianti. I preferred a dry red to balance the sweet tang of the dressing. The food materialized before me as if by magic. The efficient staff served the food and disappeared before I could say thank you. I ate slowly to better to savour the delightful taste of the food, but also to burn the maximum amount of time. I had nowhere to be. 

I felt miserable in paradise, and didn't know how to go about changing my circumstances.

The more I ate, the less I enjoyed the meal. I knew it wasn't due to the food. Anything would've tasted like ashes just then. I decided to settle the bill and leave.

I raised my hand and summoned the waiter, flashing him the universally recognized gesture of writing a cheque in midair. He presented my bill promptly, a tab for over 12,000 Bolivars! I almost passed out from the shock until I saw two other lines, one saying $9.54 USD, the other saying €9.86 Euros. 

At least I now knew why the tour guide had looked as if he wanted to spit in my face.

The smiling waiter stood patiently while I opened my purse and searched through it for a wallet that just wasn't there. Apparently, those fucking kids had been fishing for more than a piece of ass.

"One moment," I said, voice tremulous. "I need to call someone."

"Of course." The waiter nodded his head politely and moved off. Panic seized me. I called Dave on my cell, knowing that he'd be upset over being called away from his meeting. What other choice did I have?

I had expected anger but not the coldness with which he rebuffed me. I explained to him what happened and that I had no money with me. He told me to sit tight until his meeting ended in about an hour. He didn't seem concerned about the toughs who'd accosted me outside, either. Before I could say anything else he hung up. I called him again but only received a canned message in Spanish, probably the Subscriber Unavailable spiel. I put the phone away and flashed a sickly grin to the waiter who had returned with his manager. They both looked at me with sympathy, knowing exactly what had transpired outside.

I sat there for over forty minutes sipping on spring water. The host had been very kind. He allowed me to finish eating and had even brought some fresh rolls for me. The serving and kitchen staff weren’t so forgiving. Their angry glares told me exactly what they thought about foreigners who couldn't pay their bills. I felt more vulnerable sitting inside than I did with the street toughs outdoors. I had just started on my fourth glass of water when an imposing shadow passed over me.

Andrew's shadow.

His appearance shocked me so much I almost choked on my water. "Why’re you here?"

"Should I leave?"

"No! Don't go! You surprised me is all," I said. Relief made my tummy flutter. At least I thought it was relief that caused those tremulous sensations within me.

Andrew said something in Spanish to the waiter who approached him. "For your trouble," Andrew said in English before giving the waiter a $50 bill.

"Did they treat you badly?" Andrew whispered. "The natives generally are friendly to those who’re flush. Less so to those experiencing cash flow difficulties."

I shrugged my shoulders. They hadn't been all that bad. I’d worked a bit as a waitress in high school and remembered how much I’d enjoyed paying off all of those dine-and-dash meals out of my meager earnings. "They were okay," I said. "No one likes a thief, right?"

That comment earned me the first smile I'd ever seen Andrew make. It looked good on him but it also looked strange, as if he didn't use those particular facial muscles all that often. "Why did you come and not Dave?"

"Dave's working back at the hotel. He said that the presentation just needs some finishing touches and he's eager to get back to it. Who am I to stop a man who's so dedicated to his job? I wish he told me earlier who'd called him. I would've adjourned immediately. I apologize for keeping you waiting so long."

I guess Andrew wasn't the ogre I thought. As much as I appreciated him coming to help me, Dave should have come instead. That was no way for a man to treat his wife. Then again, I was Andrew's wife this week, wasn't I?

"I'll pay you back."

"Pay me back how? Your wallet's been stolen and your stuff’s in Johannesburg."

My retort hadn't even left my lips when he scooped my hands into his and kissed my knuckles. "You're mine for an entire week, Barbara Ann. Have no fear, I’ll recoup every cent you owe. Lucky for you I do accept payment in kind." 

"Ten bucks isn't a Queen’s Ransom, Andrew."

"I'm not talking about the ten dollars." He rose, drawing me up with him. "You're probably exhausted from your ordeal. Go back to your suite and take a shower. It'll make you feel better. I'll contact you soon. Goodbye, Barbara Ann." With that, he sat down at my table, turning his back to me. 

I was out of my seat and far down the street before I realized that I'd obeyed him without even thinking about it. Although I’d taken a bath earlier I knew I'd be taking another one simply because he said so.

§§§

A gentle knock on the door barely registered in my consciousness. I opened up my bleary eyes and looked at the glowing 6:03 displayed on the clock radio. The knocking returned, faint yet insistent. I leaned up, allowing the thin sheet to fall to my waist. My pink, exposed nipples stiffened in the cool morning air. Dave still snored away happily. We'd tried to have sex last night but Dave couldn't perform. Presentation jitters, he claimed. Instead, I’d sucked his cock until his cum had filled my mouth. He had gone to bed satisfied. As for me, my restless, frustrated sleep left me bone tired. While I was deciding what to do, two maids entered the bedroom.

"What the hell?" I shrieked as I placed hands over my breasts. "Who said you could come in here? It's six a.m.!

As I elbowed Dave awake, one of the two maids explained that they would straighten out the room. Dave growled like a bear roused from its hibernation and asked them why they had arrived at such an ungodly hour. Both apologized, bending to the waist, but claimed they were ordered to start at this time by Mr. Grissolm.

With the dropping of that name all the fire oozed out of Dave like blood from a slit wrist.

Dave ordered breakfast from one of the maids, an omelette with mushrooms and Swiss cheese. The other maid presented Dave with an itinerary. He glanced over it , shaking his head all the while. He obviously didn't like what he saw.

"I’d like lox on a toasted poppy bagel with cream cheese, and a glass of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice," I said. "Then a bowl of strawberries with cream to finish."

The maid apologized, but said that she wasn’t permitted to fetch me anything. Apparently, my orders were to meet Mr. Grissolm downstairs at precisely 6:30 in the atrium. It was now 6:07. I didn't have much time.

I flew from the bed, ignoring Dave and the maids as I claimed the bathroom, bathed and dressed, then hustled downstairs to meet Andrew at the appointed time. I barely recognized him. He had transformed overnight. He wore loose, casual clothing. His light cream sports coat and comfortable pants draped over his muscular frame. They contrasted well against his olive green shirt. He pulled off the informal yet elegant look well. His dark sunglasses hid his eyes but I still felt his predator's gaze upon me. He grabbed my hand and tenderly kissed the knuckles.

"Good morning, Barbara Ann. How did you sleep?"

He didn't wait for the response as he pulled me behind him, leading me to a waiting stretch limo. He opened the door and hustled me inside.

He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. "If you're to play the role of my wife, you must look the part. I can't have you wearing the same clothes for three days. Especially not those." He pointed at my sneakers. "What do you prefer to wear?"

I told him. I liked shorts, certainly, but preferred dresses and skirts. Loose, flower print cotton summer dresses were my favorite. His questions came faster. How did I like my hair styled? What kind of jewelry and accessories did I own? Did I like leather and other natural materials or did I prefer synthetics? He wanted to know everything. I revealed all. Lying to him didn't even cross my mind. 

As I spoke he made notes in a silver handheld device using a black plastic stylus, writing on it as if it was a piece of paper. I tried to crane my neck over to see what he jotted down, but couldn't make out anything. "This will be good for a start," he said. "Please continue."

The interrogation continued for twenty minutes. His terse comments told me that although he wrote down everything I said he didn't necessarily agree with my assessment. Many times he said that I’d look better in this item or in that way. I found myself agreeing with everything he said. His arrogant attitude told me that he expected no less from me. His cocksure attitude turned me on. I loved confident men.

He reached over and pulled a black leather pouch from the seat pocket and handed it to me. I pulled out a small folder from it. Flipping through it I realized it was some kind of dossier. I looked him a question.

"That's your life, Barbara Ann. You’re to memorize it before tonight’s presentation."

"Will there be a test?" I said, smiling.

"The test’s a live one. If someone asks you a question, you're to answer appropriately."

"What's the penalty for flunking?"

"Don't fuck this up, Barbara Ann." His words sent a chill creeping through my spinal column. His brown eyes flashed seriousness.

He ordered me out of the vehicle once we got to our destination, and told me to wait at the entrance of the plaza for him. He and the driver took off around the corner.

As odd as this morning was, I was having fun for the first time this trip. I don't know why, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I felt a definite thrill as if I’d entered some kind of spy story. There was another thing that excited me. So far he’d treated me better on this trip than my husband. He had given me responsibility, something I haven’t had outside the home for almost a decade. I’d enjoy working for someone again, especially a man like Andrew.

§§§

The shopping mall was a hub of activity, that was for sure! I wish I could say it was like any mall back home, but it really wasn't. These Margariteòos took their shopping seriously! Margarita is one of the few duty free zones in the world. In this place, taxes are severely curtailed. Things that would be ridiculously expensive back home sold cheap here, things you wouldn't expect. It made Margarita a shopper's paradise. I don't know what I was expecting but certainly not the opulence of this place.

It was not even seven yet, but throngs of people wandered the mall. Many of them were Hispanic but I heard many other accents. I heard French and German being spoken as well as a few other tongues I couldn't easily identify. I looked around the wide mall, stupefied, spinning in place as I did a slow rotation to take it all in. That is how Andrew found me; locked in a gradual spin with my mouth hanging open.

"Enjoying yourself, Barbara Ann? Don't make yourself dizzy."

I stopped my gawking and went to him. "Where do we go first?" I asked. I wanted out of these clothes now!

"The stores do not open until eight o'clock, but we can still wander the mall and decide which stores you want to hit. We can also go eat something if you wish. What would you like to do?" He offered me his arm, holding it out for a few moments until I clued in and took it. I laced my arm through his, thrilled that he’d make the gesture. He pulled me closer to him and started walking.

"Why did you ask for me?" I really wanted to know this. Like Dave said, he could afford to rent out an experienced escort for a few days. Why me, a housewife and mother of three young boys?

"Regrets already?"

"Not yet, but who knows how I’ll feel later? I really need to know, Andrew."

"It’s no mystery. I don't trust escorts with my personal business. Those stupid sluts are barely suitable for fucking. I need a real woman on my arm. Someone I'd be proud to have as mine in real life."

"Fair enough. But why me?"

"I need someone who's intelligent. It also helps that you're married to someone in the business. You probably heard enough of the jargon in your day-to-day so you won't feel out of place. A lot of people go blank when the talk about weapons systems, aircraft or small arms begins. I need a woman for more than just sex on this trip, Barbara Ann."

Playfully, I told him that I could certainly talk to him, but as a married woman couldn't have sex with him. Andrew cut me a knowing look, but said nothing. His compliments warmed me like the rising sun over the Arctic tundra. It would be only a matter of time until I thawed out beneath the rays of his praise. I sensed him to be a man who rarely gave compliments, and never without reason.

"I know what we're going to take care of first," he muttered, stopping in front of a large display window.

"What would that be?"

Andrew glanced sidewise at me, disturbed that I had broken into his thoughts, then shrugged his shoulders as if realizing it truly didn't matter. "Although I’ll take care of all your needs, your feet need special attention. I noticed you wear rather ill-fitting shoes. Your footwear doesn't flatter your feet at all. I intend to take care of this matter personally."

"Why do you hate them so much?" I asked him. "My runners are very comfortable."

"Is that so? Let's see." He knelt down in the middle of the mall hallway and took one of my feet in his hands. I looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen him. No one paid us any mind. Either people on Isla Margarita minded their own business or they cultivated a very relaxed atmosphere here. Andrew placed my foot on his leg, then ran his powerful hands over the back of my calf, up my leg, then up the inside of my thigh. He played with the tight band of material that encircled my fleshy thigh, looking up into my eyes as he did so. He must've seen my arousal smouldering there, a cinder re-ignited by his caresses.

"A nicely toned leg, Barbara Ann. I take it you work out. That's good." He continued stroking the length of my leg, moving both of his hands down my thighs, over my knee, and down my shins until he grasped me about the ankle. He undid my shoelace, and pulled off the canvas runner, letting it clatter to the rose coloured tiles. He gently cupped the heel of my foot in one of his palms, using his other hand's fingertips to trace swirling, fiery paths over the top of my foot, down the outer edge, then around the heel and over the arch and across the instep. His fingerpads felt like the tips of feathers as the danced over my sensitive skin.

Shuddering breath noisily exited my lungs. I never thought that contact with my foot could lead to such sensual feelings. The awkward position made it difficult for me to maintain my balance. This vulnerability also aroused me, I discovered. The loss of control became part of the experience. I leaned forward into him and braced my hand against his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind.

The position he maintained would look quite subservient to any observers, but his insolent manner would soon scrub such fallacious thoughts from them. He would do what he wanted wherever he wanted. Him kneeling in front of me didn't make him any less of a man. No, he was more manly because he'd do whatever pleased him regardless of the thoughts of others. 




Synder & Ashe Ch. 4



His fingers tightened around my instep, massaging my foot with firm pressure. My nerves tingled all the way up my Achilles tendon and well into my calf. What he did felt absolutely marvelous!

"I would say you're a European size 35, or a U.S. four and a half."

"I told you I wore a four and a half shoe before."

"You did, but seeing what you liked to wear didn’t inspire confidence in your opinion."

I should've felt insulted by that, but I didn't. His magic fingers continued to stroke my foot, ankle and calf. "You have a nice set of legs, Barbara Ann, and very nice feet. With a little bit of care they'd look exquisite."

"You're really into that, aren't you?"

"I'm into a lot of things. I worked too long in the fashion biz not to like my women looking the best."

"Fashion business?"

Andrew shook his head as if to clear errant thoughts from it. "Never mind. That’s in the past. Let's concentrate on getting your present needs taken care of, shall we?" He carefully placed my bare foot upon the ground, dusted off his lap, then stood. 

"I'm going to get you done up right. From your hair and makeup to hosiery and lingerie, I'm going to have you looking like a proper lady."

"Why lingerie? When would you get to see me in it? I'm just escorting you to a couple of social functions, right?"

He strode off, his long legs eating up distance. I snatched my shoe from the ground then hustled to catch up with him.

His last comment upset me a bit. I'd been dying to go shopping for a long time. No way would I pass up this opportunity. I decided to stop thinking. Brooding got me nowhere. I'd live for the moment and enjoy it as it happened. He seemed so relaxed earlier, and now tension plagued him. He was so much nicer when he let his guard down. Even when being kind he looked stiff, almost mannequin-like, as if his kindness muscles didn't get used that often.

I decided to give him a reason to work ‘em out.

Andrew, the perfect tool to make Dave jealous. The idea had just come to me. Dave had sold me to his boss, refused to screw me, and then left me hanging with no money in a restaurant in a foreign country. I didn't know how far Andrew intended to play his game, but I intended to play it to the end. Dave would pay for his bullshit.

"Promise me something?" I asked him once I caught up.

"Let me know what, and then I'll give you an answer."

"Are you always that evasive?"

"Always."

I grabbed Andrew by the wrist and pulled him to a stop. His eyebrows rose in surprise. I took his hands and looked up into his eyes. "Promise me this. When we're together try to relax. You're always so brusque with people. It might be a good way to talk to your employees but not to your friends. Especially not to your wife."

"I don't have a wife," he reminded me.

"This week you do. You have me."

Andrew broke our contact and strode off, taking four brisk steps before stopping. "You coming along, Barbara Ann?"

"Coming, Mister Grissolm."

He turned to me and drew me close. "Call me Andrew," he said with a smile. 



Synder & Ashe Ch. 5



I didn't get breakfast after all. Excitement coursed through me, the feeling so urgent that all thoughts of food escaped. I hungered, yes, but not for mere provender. I craved nutrition of a different sort. I needed food for my soul.

Walking around that mall with Andrew buoyed my flagging spirits. I pointed, and he translated. Slowly but surely, my minuscule Spanish vocabulary grew. Learning Spanish didn't interest me. But learning some rudimentary Spanish gave me the perfect excuse to interact with him. He seemed genuinely pleased at my attempts to learn something. That pleasure changed to amusement when he noticed that most of my vocabulary questions ran to clothing, shoes and accessories. I obviously had certain things on my mind.

He happily indulged me.

Eight o'clock found us outside Beautiful You, a trendy looking little beauty parlor and spa. The five attendants wore uniforms of emerald and amber, rich, elegant colors for beautiful women. They weren't related, but they strongly resembled one another. Each had long, blonde streaked black hair tied into a braid, black eyes and beautifully hued tanned skin. Andrew had been right. I now desired sun like never before. Seeing these Venezuelan Goddesses made me loathe my fishbelly-pallid skin tone.

"What was that?" I said, only now aware that one of the ladies had spoken to me. The attendant smiled, her perfect white teeth illuminating her face. I felt the first stirring of envy.

"She needs a total make over, ladies," Andrew said, hustling me into the nearest chair. The third woman, Sondra according to her name tag, beamed as if she'd just won the lottery. No need to guess whose station I'd been pushed into. "I want her totally redone. Start with her head," he said, brushing gentle fingers against my cheek, "and work your way down. See her oily skin and clogged pores? Fix them." His face left no room for doubt. He meant business.

He slid his fingers down my neck then over my breasts, playing with my stiffening nipples through my top. My breathing grew rapid in response. The attendants, if they thought anything amiss, kept it to themselves.

"New makeup. New nails. A full manicure and pedicure. Total body exfoliation. I want Barbara Ann totally fixed up before she leaves this place." His hands moved to match his words, gliding over my arms, my breasts, down my legs to my calves. Soon they came to rest on my slim ankles. There they remained. "Pay special attention to those feet," he commanded. "They're particularly unattractive, and need a lot of work to make them right." Andrew plucked at my laces then pulled off my runners. He passed them to the nearest attendant. She held onto them by the laces, the runners dangling far away from her body as if they dripped poison. "Look here. See what I mean?" Andrew said, prodding my foot with the tip of the plastic stylus he'd used earlier.

I shriveled in my skin as he pointed out all of the unsightly calluses on the balls of my feet and the scaly flecks of skin on my heels. The tough, rough patches on the outer edges of my feet weren't spared either. He seemed hell-bent to highlight all of my imperfections to these strangers. He ran the stylus tip over the insides of my high arched feet, tickling me. I didn't dare pull my feet away from him, though. I somehow knew that this would anger him.

"Her toes are nice and straight, and have no flaky skin between them. The cuticles have been kept clean, too. She's done fairly well for herself. I want you three ladies to perfect what you find. Do you understand?"

"We understand," Sondra said, assuming the role of spokesperson for the group. "We shall see to it." Sondra scraped a long fingernail against the dry arch of my foot. "We will not spare the moisturizer."

"A greaseless formulation, mind. Got it?" He rubbed his hand over my breasts. My nipples poked against his palm as it passed over them. Why did he do this to me? Why didn't they say anything? Then again, why didn't I say anything, either? I suffered his inappropriate touches in silence. "Remember her pores," he said. “No heavy oils.” Sondra nodded again. "How much time do you ladies need?" Andrew asked.

"Three, perhaps four hours."

"That long? Then I suggest you ladies get started," he said. He slid his hand over me, down into my shorts and dove straight into my pussy, basting his fingers with my juices. Believe me, I had moisture a-plenty down there for him to find. Him talking about me as if I wasn't even in the room excited me terribly. I don't know why. Being his pet project, his thing to sculpt and improve made my pussy drip. When he extricated his hand, rubbed the moisture between his fingers and then licked his fingers clean I almost exploded. "I'll see you all at noon, then," he said. Then he left. All of the women joined me in staring at his retreating back.

"He's very forceful," Sondra whispered to me as she gazed after him. "Your lover, yes?"

"My husband," I lied, flashing Dave's wedding ring at her.

Sondra smiled at me. "I no believe," she said. "Women no look at husbands that way."

"What way?"

"Looking like she takes him any way she gets him. A wife possesses. A mistress desires. True, or no true?" Sondra's smirk softened. She almost looked pitying. The look burned my ass. "Enough talk. Time to make you beautiful." Sondra said something to the other women. They immediately descended, barracuda-style, upon me. I only paid them half a mind as they went about their business.

It still amazed me that a man in Andrew's position would take so much time examining something as trifling as a woman's feet. Moreover, it amazed me he took so much pleasure in doing so. I've never thought of that part of my body as being sexy, but I'd certainly do so now! Whatever part of me tantalized him would definitely be a part of me I'd treasure from this point onwards. Even if he hadn't said so, I would've insisted on a soak and pedicure after his actions in the mall. If he loved to see my feet so much, I'd learn to love them as well. An angler needed a baited hook to catch the big fish. I could think of none bigger than Andrew Grissolm.

§§§

Time has always been my great enemy. Either I had too much of it, or not enough. Today, for once, it didn't concern me. Nothing concerned me outside of the swirling water currents that tickled my supersensitive skin. I sat in a marble whirlpool tub enjoying how the tiny bubbles made my recently scrubbed, pink skin effervesce. My body had never felt this sensitive before, this alive. If felt like my skin could feel a glance.

These people really knew how to work someone over. My exfoliation had done more than remove dead, flaky skin. It had scoured away years of worry, neglect and angst. Not only did I have an all over body blush from the intense scrubbing, but my entire mood had been lifted. The removal of the dead skin had eradicated a ton of leaden grief from my spirit. My face, though sweltering and relaxed, maintained its frozen, perpetual smile.

I sank down lower into the water, enjoying the way the jets tickled the crevice between my legs. They wrapped my body in a tangle of liquid tendrils that felt very much like the insinuating fingers of my boyfriend. I giggled at that. Andrew Grissolm: Boyfriend. No, not quite. I wondered what to consider him. How did I define our relationship? 

And why had I thought of his touch first and not my husband's?

Quiet footfalls alerted me to the presence of another. Sondra approached, telling me that she would be back for me when it was time to dry off and get dressed. I sighed. Nothing good lasted forever. I remained in the bubbly water for ten more minutes before finally deciding to get up and leave. Delaying would only make things harder. I stood up in the pool of water, preparing to exit.

Andrew stood before me, face looking very amused. "Hello," he said.

I died, was cremated, then sprang forth from the steaming ashes in one embarrassing, terrifying moment. I had dreamed of the day when I'd stand before Andrew, naked and ready for him to take me. It had been a nighttime fantasy, just a dream, but had been a very romantic seduction on his part. Pleading and cajoling, he'd finally convinced me to slip out of my clothing and to present myself to him for his pleasure. In my dreams he'd begged for the honor of finally taking me, of making me his woman. Instead, I now stood on display for him like a piece of meat at the market. Standing there, freshly cleansed, I now felt soiled.

I wanted to die.

My brain had seized up, but my body knew what to do. An arm snaked over my breasts, concealing my hardening nipples while the other one hid my pussy from him. Then I sank into the bubbling whirlpool to hide. I had considered my skin red earlier. I hadn't known how crimson flesh could turn. My entire body looked as scarlet as a vine ripened tomato.

"How did your treatments go?" Andrew folded a thick, fluffy towel into a pad and laid it upon the edge of the tub. He then sat down upon it, balancing upon the narrow edge of the tub. His warm, expressive eyes bored into me. My mouth worked soundlessly.

"Barbara Ann?"

"Oh! Very well. The women took great care of me," I said, still in shock.

"Is that so? What did they do?"

Andrew interrogated me for a good quarter of an hour, making me stay submerged to the breasts the entire time. My body felt lobster-steamed, my skin redder than a parboiled carapace. The water had once felt dreamily, pleasantly warm. Now it felt nightmarishly hot, a hellish stew pot of torturous temperature. Andrew sat, totally oblivious to my plight. He engaged me in a light bout of trivial conversation while I felt near to passing out. Eventually, he simply stopped talking and sat there, staring at the tops of my tits as if his gaze could make the film of water on them evaporate into a puff of superheated steam. 

What he waited for I couldn't guess.

"You'll have to get out eventually, Barbara Ann. You'll prune to death this way."

"As soon as you leave," I said, not thinking.

"Oh? I'll leave when you get up," he replied. He plunged his hand into the water, soaking his sleeve to the elbow as he fished out my waterlogged hand. Using this, he yanked me up out of the water, like Aphrodite breaking out of the waves at dawn. I stepped free of the pearlescent pink tub and stood on the bath mat, dripping, shivering, but oh so hot! My hand remained immobilized in his grip. I had wanted to cover my breasts to protect them from his scrutiny. Instead, one hand twitched passively beside me, doing nothing. The other hand quivered in the iron grip that held it.

"Turn around for me, Barbara Ann. Slowly."

He released my hand. It immediately leaped to my left breast. The other hand snapped to the still-exposed right one. That left the rest of my body uncovered and vulnerable. I clamped my legs together to conceal my tingling inner recesses from him.

"Spin like you did in the mall this morning, Barbara Ann." I felt impatience radiating from him. "Hurry up. I won’t ask so nicely again."

I obeyed him, turning around in a slow, lazy circle in front of the tub. I kept my breasts covered, expecting him to comment upon it. He didn't. My flesh felt hot wherever his burning gaze contacted my tender skin. Those stares of his made me sizzle.

"Beautiful," he whispered. He out and caressed a firm, plump ass cheek. He didn't stop there. His hand wandered lower, down my wide hip, along my buttocks and down my thigh. The fiery trail he traced down my body smoked. "So very beautiful."

His caresses grew insistent. His fingertips burrowed between the lobes of my ass, grazing against my puckered asshole. It clenched and relaxed in spasmodic little bursts from the light, irregular contact. My legs flexed by themselves. My ready, warm pussy seeped lubrication. As much as my body obviously wanted his touch, my mind wanted me to pull away. I forced myself to remain still. Why did I even try lying to myself, pretending that I didn’t want his hands on me? I only tolerated his touch. I didn’t want it, or him.

His laughing eyes told me he didn't believe that I suffered at all. 

"Now your hands, Barbara Ann. Lower them." He took his hands from me, stepping back a pace so he could watch easier. I immediately longed for his hands to return to where he’d had them, buried between my asscheeks, prying me open. 

Damn! How could I fall for a man that fast? Was I that weak? I couldn't bear to watch him. Color suffused my cheeks as I slowly pulled my hands away from my breasts. The long, hard nipples puckered from the sudden contact with the cooler air. Small gooseflesh-like pimples covered my areolas. Andrew grasped both of my nipples firmly, applying a gentle, constant pressure to them. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked me. He already knew the answer, but wanted to hear me admit it aloud. His face neared mine, his breath even hotter than my already inflamed desire. The pressure on my nipples increased as his face closed in with mine. “Tell me. Do you like this?” The pressure increased exponentially, making my heart stop and my pussy boil.

“Yes!” I hissed between clenched teeth. This close I could see the faint, almost indiscernible down that clung to his cheeks like the fuzz on a peach. He looked so different from Dave, but felt the same to me in so many ways. I felt secure around both men, though I had absolutely no reason to feel that way about Andrew. I hadn't known him for very long, but I instinctively felt that I could trust him. At the very least, I could trust the man to take good care of his possessions.

That’s when it hit me; how to categorize our relationship. Not a lover. Not a girlfriend. For this week I was his plaything. His toy. Surprisingly, the thought pleased me.

His face neared mine. He was going to kiss me at long last! My head craned back as my lips parted, all hot and eager to accept him. Instead, his mouth veered to the left. Sharp teeth grazed at the side of my neck. His chin stubble tickled my skin. The scratchy sensations made my clit twitch.

"I'll see you again soon," he said. Then he pulled away from me. "Finish up in here." He left.

That floored me. How could he just leave me after inflaming my lusts like that? He was worse than Dave! At least my husband hadn’t set out to get me hot. He had just refused to take advantage of my horny, need-to-fuck condition. Andrew, however, had been the instigator. He had made me want him, than had walked away. I wanted to kill him! I wanted to scream at him.

I needed to have him.

Instead, I stayed still, struck dumb by my reactions to his abandonment. 

I don't know how long I stood there, naked and dripping. All I remember is that one minute I'd been displaying myself for Andrew, and the next minute Sondra had been gently shaking my shoulder. A large bath towel had magically wrapped itself around my body.

"Mrs. Grissolm? Your husband has told us to have you ready in fifteen minutes. Please hurry!" The round-eyed frenzy in her touched a nerve in me. She, too, didn't want to disappoint or anger Andrew. I knew just how the woman felt, but was angered that the tart dared presume to care. Still, she had a job to do. I allowed myself to be herded into a small room where a stack of boxes waited on a table.

"Your new clothes, Mrs. Grissolm. Please dress, then come out front." Sondra left quickly, vanishing behind a curtain that blocked the doorway.

Call me stunned and stupid, but I actually spent a couple of minutes searching for my top, shorts and runners. Of course I didn’t locate them. I’d never see my things again. I let the towel drop to the floor as I reached for the closest box. It contained a pair of sexy high heels. Black, latigo leather affairs with remarkably thin, ankle twisting heels. The multitude of thin leather straps spiraled around the instep to the rear heel. A pair of extra long, butter-soft thongs pooled in the box. Grecian slave-style lacings. Enough length to reach my knees, I estimated. 

I quickly rifled through the other boxes, finding a thin black thong bikini bottom that covered nothing, a leopardskin print wraparound sarong, a long, matching print rectangle of cloth that looked to be some kind of sash, and a purse. More interesting still was the set of inch thick, braided leather straps I found that connected to a pair of bright silver O-rings. Those rings, in turn, were sewn to a pair of collars. The leatherwork looked like a harness of some kind. The smaller collar would fit my neck. The larger, my waist. The strands of braided leather would create an interesting web over my body in the spaces in between. The supple, strong leather smelled divine! My fingers scraped along the braid work, appreciating the craft that had gone into fashioning them. 

That’s how Andrew found me, sniffing at the braided leather straps like a unruly bitch did a brand new leash. I was a child caught doing mischief. Like one, I quickly pulled my hands away and put them behind my back in an attempt to conceal the harness. This, in turn, only resulted in me revealing more of myself to his lewd gaze. Amusement shone in his eyes as he walked over to me, watching me futilely trying to cover my front while simultaneously keeping my arms behind my back.

Why did my brain short-circuit every time he came anywhere near me?

"Barbara Ann," he whispered, so low I had to force myself to hear him, "you're never to hide your body from me again. Do you understand?"

Anger flashed across my face. "What?"

He stepped forward then wrapped his left hand gently around my neck. His thumb caressed my throat. He did not even let the full weight of his hand rest upon me, yet I still could sense the hidden strength inside him. "Yes, Andrew," I said, dying inside. That pathetic voice could've belonged to a four-year-old girl, not a woman closer to forty.

"What do you understand?" he questioned. His powerful hand changed its grip, now clutching me under the chin. He tilted my head upwards, gazing into my eyes as he used his thumb to trace along my bottom lip. My tongue flickered out, stimulated by his caress. It slid over my bottom lip, grazing his thumb. The buds of my tongue could feel every minute ridge of his thumbnail as they slid across them.

"Well?" he pressed.

"My body is yours to do with what you choose," I whispered. My breasts heaved in time with my breathing. The blasted room spun, or was it myself that careened out of control? I had to force myself to focus on him. Only him. Everything else looked twisty-turvy and couldn't be trusted. He remained the only constant in the room. In a very real sense, he'd become my entire world.

"Good," he said. I could hear the smile in his words. "Now dress from me. Slowly, Barbara Ann. Start with the shoes. Keep me interested."

Now that was different! In my dreams it had always been the undressing that had made him excited. I had thought since he had seen me already, that was a mystery we’d never share. Could someone even perform a dress-tease? Apparently so. I tried to be graceful, using every bit of my skill. To be perfectly honest, I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. I copied some of the moves I've seen the girls do on rap videos and some of Dave's porn flicks. Doing them in reverse seemed ludicrous. I pointed my toe as I slipped on a strappy sandal, letting my fingers caress the swaths of pink, freshly scrubbed skin that peeked out from between the leather strands. My feet shone, so recently buffed, rubbed and de-callused. In truth, I couldn't believe how deliciously soft they felt even to myself!

They did look sexy, especially in those wonderful shoes. For a moment I wondered what it would feel like to have his cock in between the soles of my feet, letting my dainty, nimble toes curl about his shaft like tiny fingers as I used my feet to work it to the brink of orgasm. Then his cum; the hot, scalding stuff would pelt my body, searing my soul as it traced sizzling tracks across my hide. The very thought of it made my pussy itch. I quickly covered up my arousal with further action, continuing to tie up the Grecian lacings right up to the knee. The other shoe went on much faster than the first.




Synder & Ashe Ch. 5



Standing on such skyscraper heels was an experience in and of itself. The high arch made my hips thrust out unnaturally, forcing me to lean backwards in order to maintain balance. I did like how fantastically toned and muscular my legs suddenly looked. The calves, pulled tight, looked marvelous. I vowed right then and there to toss my StairMaster and instead to buy more incredibly sexy, super-tall heels to stretch me into perfection. The uncomfortable tugging of my muscles, right underneath my ass told me that a similar effect might be going on with my wide, all too fat ass and hips. 

If I could change one thing about myself, that would be it. My lard-ass had to go.

Next, I rolled on the thong bikini, tugging the stringy garment on with slow, deliberate movements. The cloth buried itself deep between my fleshy ass cheeks. It peeked out from between my ample thighs and scaled up the valley of my sex. Light whispers of pussy down radiated out from it. The cloth wasn't even wide enough to properly hide it all! Shame colored my cheeks. Quickly I donned the sarong, tying it snugly around my waist with a secure knot on the left side of my hip. Andrew's warm, deep chuckle surprised me, making me halt my activity.

"Go on," he said." So far, so good!"

Why did such a small compliment have such a great effect on me? Who knows. But it did. I lived to receive his praise and to know that I had pleased him.

But how could I continue? All that remained was the harness and sash. The sash seemed like overkill. I already had the sarong secured in place. The light garment draped beautifully. It needed no sash to complement it. And where the hell was the bikini top? The remaining boxes held nothing. Certainly he didn't intended to make me go outside dressed only in fuck-me heels and braided leather straps?

Did he?

"Let me help you," he said, approaching me. He took the bit of gauzy leopardskin cloth from my trembling hands and held each end in a different fist. He then quickly flipped it over my head, drawing me to him by the band stretched across the back of my neck. Jacked up on the skyscraper heels I stood at the perfect height to steal a kiss from him. My mouth opened, ready for the blessed event to take place at long last. 

Of course it was not to be!

Andrew stepped back, crossing the ends of the cloth over my breasts then moving forward again to hold them close to my rib cage. "Take them," he said. My listless hands obeyed. My mind wasn't on getting dressed. It puzzled over his contrary actions. He claimed to want me, and had strongarmed Dave to get me. Now, he acted as if he had no intentions of taking me! It made no sense.

Andrew slipped behind me, grasping the ends I held in my weak grip and tying them behind me. I felt a knot biting into the small of my back, right on the spine. Andrew's hands snaked around me, tweaking my nipples. As they hardened even more, he carefully smoothed out the band of cloth that clung to my breasts until they were decently covered. Well, kind of. I could still see my pale flesh clearly through the material. My breasts being totally visible yet concealed made them look even more attractive than they had totally bare!

I felt his hand at my hip, applying insistent pressure upon it. I allowed him to turn me about, ever so slowly, until I made a complete circuit like a record on a turntable. He inspected every bit of me. I felt him weigh, tally and catalogue me in that ever-working brain of his. I wondered how I rated. Did I pass, or did he find me wanting?

"Almost perfect," he whispered. Inside I bounced up and down in childish glee, even though I remained absolutely composed on the outside. That is, if a woman quickly soaking her g-string with pussy juice and quaking like a fever victim could be thought of as 'composed.'

"What is it you need ... what is it?" he whispered to himself, eyes locked upon me but not seeing me. His mind roamed elsewhere. How could this very important man spend so much time with me and neglect preparations for an Expo that could potentially make him and his firm millions? I didn’t know, but I liked it. Unlike certain bastard husbands I knew, this Andrew Grissolm knew how to treat a lady.

Then again, I was his lady now. A small part of me wished that I could be his forever. But everyone knows that wishes don't come true.

But desires? Desires often did. They just required little bit of effort to bring them to fruition.

"Hair," he said last. His hand reached out to stroke my auburn locks, tracing the curvy falls down my neck and all the way to my back. "I've been neglecting your hair. We need to fix it up. Get it cut, or something."

His comment hurt me. I've always had long hair. I liked it that way. I had made it through the hair spray '80s, the severe cut '90s and all the way into the new millennium with my long hair intact. Why did he think it needed slashing? 

"What's the name of the woman looking after you?" he asked.

"Sondra." 

"Sondra. Yes. Let's ask her to fix up your hair. Perhaps a shorter style to better accentuate your face. Long hair detracts from it. Men's eyes see it, but not you."

"Andrew, I really don't want to –"

"What you want isn't important here, Barbara Ann. You'll have your hair styled today. Come along." Andrew left to look for my attendant. He didn't even look back to see if I followed or not. I’m sure he had no doubt that I'd be right behind him. I fell into line just like a little schoolgirl behind her teacher as they went off to see the principal. I felt so insignificant I wanted to burst into tears. At the same time, my excited, overstimulated pussy wept sweet, warm honey down my legs and inner thighs. It wasn't just the altitude of the high heels that made my gait wobbly! Though they now looked toned, solid and muscular, my legs felt like overstretched rubber bands.

What else could this man have in store for me, I wondered? It wasn't even noon yet.

As things turned out, the day truly was still young.